People at auditions are crazy.

People at auditions are crazy. (Except for me, of course.)

This has got to be the weirdest audition waiting room I have ever been in. We're all groggy because we all showed up at 6:45 am - that's in the morning - and anxious because we don't know if we'll actually get seen or not today. We're loopy because we all showed up at 6:45 am - in the morning! - and anxious because we're competing with all 100 other people here. We're high and cracked out on caffeine and Red Bull because we al showed up at 6:45 am in the Gosh Darnit morning...

And I'm completely, utterly, 100% JADED BY OPEN CALLS.

I am so over this whole open call thing. "Yes, we'll be holding auditions, and we're not quite mean enough to tell you that since you're not part of the Actor's Union, there's no chance we'll even let you audition...so we'll be nice to you and give you false hope and keep telling you that if time permits, we'll watch you spit out a one minute monologue." For those of you who don't understand what an open call is, think American Idol auditions and try not to rip your hair out.

I know almost all of these people here today. There's the girl who got here at 4 am - with her hair in her curlers and fake eyelashes on her real eyelashes. There's the girl who has been to every audition in the past 5 years and hasn't gotten cast in one measly reading. There's Polyanna, at her first ever audition in New York City and chatting to everybody in her Southern accent doe-eyed and full of hope. There's the staple clan of gay men who will get cast in this show and their single lady entourage who have just accepted the fact that they will never have real boyfriends because they're putting their career first. And then there's me...

Who's still utterly, completely, 100% JADED by this experience. Why do I do this? Why do I put myself through such torture?

Because...
I meet the most fascinating people.

Today I don't quite know everybody. There are a few more in the crowd.

Out of the silence of groggy, sleepy actors comes: "What are you reading?," from Girl to My Left to Girl All The Way Across the Room. Who doesn't answer, because she is all the way across the room and there are about 40 people in the room. "What are you reading over there?" repeats Girl to My Left. She gets a few glares this time. Now, it's totally normal to socialize at auditions and get to know people and bond over the horrible experience together. But at this particular audition, there was a mellow atmosphere and a common agreement that we were all going to peacfully mind our own business in the final two hours of this epic day. But now, Girl to My Left has disrupted the equilibrium and now all 40 people have to pretend to be interested in this book.

"Um. Latte. It's a new play," Girl All The Way Across the Room timidly shares.

"It looks horrible. Why are you reading it?" snarkily comments Girl to My Left, who officially just turned herself into Presumptuous Weird-o. I've got to admit, the cover of the paperback is a little odd. It's indeed a latte in the ugliest mug I've ever seen on a paperback entitled Latte. Still, even I in my jaded stae of being didn't feel the need to share that information with the owner.
"Um. Just to read new plays, I guess." Solid answer. I'm sure she's not admitting it's really because she's bored out of her mind but wants to keep her nose in a book to avoid awkward conversation with people like you.
"Have you heard good things about it?" Presumptuous Weird-o interrogates.
"No."
"Hm. That seems silly. Why would you read a new play if you knew nothing about it?"
"Um. Just to stay up-to-date with new things, I guess."

Now by this point P.W. has everyone giving her glares. She's outcasted herself. Is she trying to be polite? Is she trying to "break the ice" in the room by initiating conversation? Is she trying to make new friends? Because she is not doing a good job of it. It's at this point that I'm reminded that weird people bring their weirdness upon themselves.

Girl Way Across The Room pretty much goes back to pretending she's interested in her Latte, while Presumptuous Weird-o sighs heavily, looks at her watch, gets up and yawns for us all to hear and stretches as if she's about to run a 5K. "WHEN are they going to see us? How LONG will this take? C'mon! Let's get this SHOW on the ROAD!" She's not angry. She's not depressed. I think she's genuinly trying to find common ground and empathize with her fellow non-union actors. But once again, she's doing a poor job.

Are we supposed to answer her rhetorical questions? One voice of innocence dares to respond:

"I know. It's been so long," he commiserates, and then, "What is this audition even for?" the little voice adds. He's about 5'2", Hispanic, with Converse sneakers, a sequin shirt, and an emo belt and chains running across his body. And in one innocent comment, Virgin Audition Boy has both introduced and doomed himself.

The audition is for The Shape of Things. A very controversial, contemporary piece by the very well-known Neil LaBute. Paul Rudd starred in the movie. And the audition is only for two of the parts: the manipulative artist girlfriend (me. clearly.) and the preppy frat boy (not Virgin Audition Boy. clearly.)

"Oh I'm so excited! This is my first audition ever! I just decided I wanted to be an actor and so this is my first time! I don't really know what I'm doing! I just decided this is what I want to do! So here I am! What do you have to do for the audition? I have a headshot. Actually I have a few - which one do you think I should use?! What's a monologue? Do I have to say something when I go in there?! I don't have anything to say!" And I find myself debating on the glamour shot versus the bad boy shot and giving the defintion of a "monologue" to Virgin Audition Boy.

His resume is handwritten on the back of his headshot. It includes three plays that he performed in his back yard, four years of high school choir, and a movie that he and his friends made. Probably in his back yard, too.

It's a little bit cute. It's a little bit refreshing and inspiring to help someone with their very first audition. I want to tell him he stands no chance. That he's not right for this role. That it's unprofessional to handwrite your resume. But instead I tell him: "You're going to be great!"

Somehow I manage to avoid being his mentor with the next task, which is to write a monologue. But as Karma will kick in at just the right times, Presumptuous Weird-o Girl to My Left is stuck with the job.

I do, however, have the pleasure of hearing him rehearse his monologue, which goes a little something like this: "How could you? This is the biggest day of my life. I knew you would stab me behind my back. I can't believe you would do this to me. I loved you! And you said you loved me! You're a disgrace!"...It sounds like a scene from Days of Our Lives, and I shoudn't be making fun of his monologue because I am in fact an aspiring soap actress, but...well, I am.
And I have the pleasure of listening to him perform his monologue for the director. And then having the director come out after the world-premiere of the monologue and inform me that auditions are over and that Virgin Audition Boy was the last actor he would get to see today...and therefore I am the first of the remainder of us not to get an audition today.

Giving me yet one more reason to be jaded.
...and one more reason to try again tomorrow.

Oh the things I do for a couple of bucks.

I'm working for the Mafia now. I've got a couple hours to kill between an audition and rehearsal, I'm debating if I should trek back to Queens or not. My Greek neighbor calls me.

"Hey Jodie, you wanna make some money," says Chris.
Uh. Let me think about that one.

"Yea."

"Ok. I need someone to sit in my car while I take pictures of buildings," he says.

Um. Let me think about that one.

"Basically, all's you gotta do is sit in my car so I don't gotta pay for parkin'. Usually I got one a' my boys do it but none a' them are around. Aight? So I'll pay you like ...pssssshaw... ten dollas an hour for four hours work. But it'll probably only take two. I'll give ya forty bucks."

This sounds sketchy. Then again, Chris is sketcky. "Ok," I say. "Why not?" Because why not? is a slogan for a very interesting life, I think.

I meet Chris at 42nd & Lex and we drive to God knows where, and he illegally parks, and I illegally sit in the car, while he takes pictures of buildings. So normal.

The best part of the job is that I get to listen to all his secret Mafia phone calls. About money. And "deals." And "closings." And more money. There's a lot of money. Chris won't settle for less than two million on one particular project. And forty of that is mine...

I find out Chris is in charge of sales for his own construction company. He's selling his new company to some new clients, but he's not admitting that he's new. Instead, he fills the company's resume with projects his buddies' construciton companies have completed. It's a great system him and "his boys" got going on - they all share the credit for each other's work and therefore make themselves look bigger and better than they stand individually in order to get bigger jobs. And then they kill the guys who disagree with them.

Chris is in the car talking on his cell as we're illegally parked on the side of the road. I'm soaking up the reality of my situation and debating whether this or dogsitting tops the chart of Most Bizarre Jobs I've Ever Done when a traffic patrol officer walks up and puts a ticket in Chris' window. I wonder if he'll still give me the forty bucks...

Unemployed Day # 108

So now this is more like "Confessions of the Unemployed."

It's actually "in" to be unemployed. Everybody's doing it. I am officially on the unemployed bandwagon, rackin' up unemployment benefits from the State of New York, spending 2 hours at the gym every day, strolling down random streets and window shopping, all because I am getting paid to DO NOTHING! I am in fashion with the majority of New York. We roam the streets with nowhere important to go, with no money in our wallets, soaking up precious space and breathing precious air. I should be jumping up for joy. I should be embracing this freedom. Instead, I sit here bored out of my mind crying "I want a full-time job!" What 23 year old actress says that?!

I'm running out of ideas. I've thought so outside the box I can't even find myself back to the box anymore. I couldn't even get a waitressing job, or a tutoring job, or a part-time office assistant job. There are no temp jobs through the temp agencies. Schools are no longer hiring substitute teachers. My gym isn't hiring, there's no "Help" signs in any windows, babysitting jobs aren't following through, and every time I think "Maybe I should look for a full-time job," I say to myself "No! Embrace this time of unemployment to go audition and try new things!"

I am envious of every cashier I approach at a store. I am envious of cab drivers. I resent immigrants wearing their MTA uniforms picking up trash on the subway platforms!

I want to be a receptionist! I want to file papers! I want to send faxes! I want to do someone else's dirty work! I'll do someone else's dirty laundry! ... These are now dreams of mine.

I'm probably going to wish I had all this free time back when it's finally gone...

But I'm a do-er. Being busy and active is so ingrained into my pores that I don't quite feel like myself if I'm not working (and succeeding) on five different projects at once. I never would have guessed that being unemployed would be the hardest job I'd ever have to do.